He pulled the legs off crickets, just one per customer. The crickets would hop in circles, suffering.

He would torture, but not kill, a mouse; and he usually let it escape. We had maimed rodents in the walls.

He would sleep on top of books, because a book with a body on it was less likely to be picked up. A book not picked up was less likely to siphon attention away from him.

If a book was in active use, he bashed his head into its corner rhythmically, until threats of exile and violence ensued.

October 17, 2019

You get that feeling that you’ve heard this story before…

Almost two years ago–shy five days–I posted that Lazarus (the scruffy, orange fellow pictured above) had liver cancer. And then he didn’t. He had pancreatitis. Still, we were told he was going to die. Soon. And then he didn’t.

Two days ago, we were once again told that Lazarus probably had liver cancer, and we began mourning all over again. And now he doesn’t have liver cancer. Honestly, I think the boy’s liver was a gift from Loki, or maybe Anansi. It likes to f**k with us.

I also think that I’ve found cause to deny Harlan Ellison’s claim that “Let me help” are the three most important words in the English language, even up against “I love you.” I think “It’s not cancer” are those words for me. This is not the first or the second time I’ve heard them, about a cat or a human, and their emotional impact simply cannot be described.

At 1701 hours on September 26, my old friend Lewis G. Aide, West Point graduate, IT Wizard, Convention Magician and actual magician, first responder, senior center volunteer and NeighborRide driver, left this life.

And he left it better than he found it.

I met Lew in 1986, probably at a committee meeting for our Star Trek convention, ClipperCon. I don’t recall the exact circumstances or what we talked about. I know I first heard his name on a phone call with Marion McChesney. I was doing the con program book and needed to verify the spellings of all the staff and guest names. “Oh, there’s two people you haven’t even met yet,” she said. “They’ll get a kick out of being listed as committee members.” Marion played fast and loose with formalities. She had met these guys somewhere, and just decided they should join us. Lew Aide was taking over my old slot as “assistant film chairman,” also known as the poor schlub who threaded the 16 MM films and, more and more in those days, popped the VHS tapes in and out. Marc Lee was the other new “hire.” He was filling the new committee position of Being Marc Lee.

December 5, 2018

Dear Daddy –

Tonight I’m cleaning up the basement a bit more. Still working in the train room, as I’m calling it now. “We have a train room?” Christian asked me recently. “I’m just so amused that our family has a house with named rooms. Do we have a skinning and tanning room?” (He may not have said “skinning and tanning.” It was something just as absurd. It may have been “taxidermy.”)

In all these weeks, I don’t believe I’ve discussed, in depth, how the basement came to look the way it did when you left us—the way it had looked for decades before that. I believe I mentioned the dreaded trip to the Sacred Heart Hospital in Cumberland, but I don’t think I told the whole story. So here goes.

“It isn’t personal,” they say. “Don’t take it personally,” they say.

Well, I take things personally. Always have. Probably always will. For me, there is no “just doing my job,” or “just following the rules.”

When my First Grade teacher taught me to read, she was just doing her job, but it was personal to me. She called me her “Young Spaceman,” and I loved her. She had given me the greatest gift in the world.

When my Third Grade teacher threatened me with a tree branch, because she was following her rules and I wasn’t, it was personal. I frustrated her. She pretty clearly hated me. When my other Third Grade teacher (my father fired the entire school on my behalf and took me elsewhere) taught me my multiplication tables, a year late and after much struggling, it was personal, and I loved her too.

In high school, when the yearbook advisor told me that our senior yearbook would likely not be published until the class after ours had already graduated, it was personal, and I stayed late every day for two weeks, getting the layouts finished, meeting the printer’s deadline. We had all worked hard on that book, and I wanted it in people’s hands. That wasn’t just my job or my grade, it was personal. I could make a difference, and, dammit, I was going to.

I missed posting last week, and have not readied one of my collection of “Colonel’s Plan” posts for this week, because it’s Farpoint season. Farpoint, for the uninformed, is a science fiction convention that my family founded. It’s been held annually in Hunt Valley, MD for 26 years now. So I’m very busy. So I’ll be back in touch next week. In the meantime, here’s what I’m up to:

Everyone who knows me knows that I’m a political curmudgeon. I’m usually outspoken supporting underdog candidates—like Gary Johnson in the 2016 Presidential election. My underdog streak goes way back. I was a John Anderson supporter in 1980, three years before I could vote. That might give some of you the idea that I only support lost causes. Not this time. 

This Thursday, I voted in the mid-term election. (If you live where I do, you have three days of early voting opportunities left. Do it. It’s convenient.) I voted for, in alphabetical order, Democrats, Independents, Libertarians and Republicans. I voted for incumbents who have done a solid job, for mavericks who probably won’t win, but who deserve a showing for their valiant efforts, and for newcomers who stand a good chance, and who I think will accomplish great things in office. 

I voted for people, not politics. 

I’d like to ask you to do the same. 

Continue reading →

Damien!!!!!

I admit it, I love the original version of The Omen. I loved the sequel as well–Damien: Omen II. From the moment Damien appears, seen walking with fire before him, until Lee Grant shrieks his name devotedly as she dies at his hand, the story of the literal son of Satan hooks me.

But I’m not going to talk about that. I’m going to talk about a Kickstarter I’m running that’s stuck at the number of the beast, the number of a man, the number Damien has tatooed on his scalp…

Six-Hundred and Sixty Six dollars.

Continue reading →

October 10^th, 2017

Dear Daddy—

I’ve had a hard time finding time to write lately. We’ve done a lot of work in the house over the weekend, and, even though it was a long weekend, and I’ve actually taken this week off, life fills to fit the available free time. You knew how that was, I know. But, in and around work, doctor’s appointments and shuttling Christian to and from school, we are making progress with the house. I spent what time I could today building the shelf to hold the sinks. I decided to tile the countertop (it turned out to be a very small space, once the holes for the sinks were cut yesterday!) using the mosaic tile you had bought for the floor.

I brought a section of it out (photo) to show Renee and Mother and ask their opinion. Mother exclaimed, “Oh, Steven, that’s pretty! Now, where does it go?”

Continue reading →